


If a Body Catch a Body Coming Through the Rye

by catie_writes_things



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Tim finds Jason, sorry this turned out to be more of a downer than i meant it to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 04:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16360679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catie_writes_things/pseuds/catie_writes_things
Summary: The night Jason Todd inexplicably comes back from the dead, he ends up, just as inexplicably, on the doorstep of thirteen-year-old Tim Drake.





	If a Body Catch a Body Coming Through the Rye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamfitzwilliamdarcy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamfitzwilliamdarcy/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Katie! Sorry this fic is, uh, not super uplifting, but hopefully you'll enjoy it.

Tim’s house is roughly two miles from Wayne Manor as the crow flies, closer to three by road. He knows this because he’s checked it on a map, carefully measured the distance and done the calculations. But there are no other houses in between, which means that Tim is, technically, next door neighbors with Bruce Wayne. He’s mentioned this a couple times to other kids at school, but no one really seems impressed by it, any more than they are by all the other things Tim knows about geography or history or computers.

Being next door neighbors with Bruce Wayne means that Tim is also, technically, next door neighbors with Batman. Tim figured this out, too, though he knows better than to tell any of his classmates about that, even if he is pretty sure it’s the one thing that maybe would impress them. A secret like that is just too important, too big to tell, no matter how cool it is.

But Tim knows as much about Batman as he does about anything else. He’s smart, he’s observant, and he’s got nothing but time on his hands, shut up in the big house by himself most days. That’s how he knows that Bruce Wayne’s older ward, Dick Grayson, used to be Robin, and is now living in Bludhaven operating as Nightwing. It’s how he knows Jason Todd replaced Dick as Robin a few years ago. It’s how he knows, or at least suspects, what must have really happened to Jason, because it wasn’t that long after the tragic and mysterious death of Bruce Wayne’s younger ward that the Joker was finally taken into custody - alive, but only just barely.

Tim has pieced together from news articles and police reports he maybe kinda wasn’t supposed to see nearly all of the sad story of Jason Todd, and his imagination has filled in the rest. He thinks, probably, it must be nice to have someone care about you as much as Batman obviously cared about his Robin. And he’s starting to think, based on what he’s seen of the caped crusader’s activity lately, that Batman actually needed Robin as much as Robin needed him.

So yes, Tim is a veritable expert when it comes to all things Batman related. That’s how, when a bruised and battered teenage boy just a couple years older than Tim himself turns up on his doorstep one stormy night, Tim knows without a doubt that this is Jason Todd - a scared, confused, but inexplicably very much alive Jason Todd.

“Bruce?” Jason calls out frantically as he drips on the front hall carpet, eyes roving wildly as if he expects his guardian to appear anywhere, at any moment - which, Tim supposes, is not a totally crazy thing to expect when your guardian is also Batman. But Tim is fairly certain Batman is not lurking somewhere in his house at this moment, so he focuses on the problem at hand.

“Bruce isn’t here,” Tim says carefully. Jason’s eyes snap to him, and his shoulders tense, as if he is just noticing the younger boy exists, even though Tim had dragged him in out of the rain a minute ago. “It’s okay,” Tim says. “He’s not here, but I can help you find him.”

Jason stares at him, quietly dripping for another moment - he’s wearing a dark suit that looks like it was probably expensive, though now it’s dirty and torn, and Tim notices his knuckles are bloody. There’s a clap of thunder as Tim wonders if this is really what it looks like, if the dead Robin really just dug himself out of his own grave, or if maybe there is such a thing as ghosts after all...

“Where am I?” Jason asks quietly as the last echoes of the thunder die away, speaking to Tim directly for the first time. “What happened?”

“You’re...not far from home,” Tim hesitantly answers the first question, the easier one. But before he can think of something diplomatic to say to the second, Jason suddenly clutches his head and groans in pain.

“Are you okay?” Tim asks, taking a step towards the older boy in concern, then mentally scolds himself. Of course he’s not okay, he’s supposed to be dead, who knows what kind of injuries he still has…

Jason doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t fight as Tim guides him into the first floor guest bedroom which is never used. He collapses onto the bed, instantly muddying then clean sheets, which Tim finds oddly reassuring. He’s pretty sure a ghost wouldn’t track mud everywhere. But Jason is also muttering something incoherent, which is less reassuring. Tim knows a lot of things, and the fact that he is not a qualified medical professional is definitely one of them. He reaches for the phone, to call for help.

He freezes with his thumb hovering over the number 9. He hesitates, because Jason Todd is legally dead, and if he turns up in an emergency room that would raise all kinds of questions, which might eventually turn into Batman questions. Not good.

He can’t call his dad, for the same reason. But there is one person he can call. Leaving Jason, who doesn’t appear to be going anywhere, Tim retreats to the kitchen and consults the list of emergency contacts they keep on the side of the fridge. The Drakes are, after all, neighbors with Bruce Wayne.

Tim has never dialed this number before, and he double checks that he’s entered the right digits before he hits the green call button. The phone rings twice before it’s picked up.

“Wayne Manor,” a polite, accented voice responds on the other end of the line. “Alfred Pennyworth speaking.”

“Mr. Pennyworth,” Tim begins nervously. “It’s Tim Drake. I’m…” The word neighbor dies on his tongue. They’re only technically neighbors, they don’t really know each other at all. “I’m Jack Drake’s son?” he says instead, wincing at how it sounds like a question.

“Yes, Master Drake, I know you you are,” the voice replies patiently. “What can I do for you?”

“My mom and dad are out of town,” Tim says without thinking. Why would he lead with that? Stupid. “And there’s this guy - a kid, little older than me - anyway, he’s here, and he looks like...” Like he just dug himself out of the grave? Like he’s the dead Robin you don’t think I know about? Tim tries to rally his nerve. “Jason Todd,” he concludes. “It’s Jason.”

There’s a long silence. “Master Drake,” Alfred finally says, no longer sounding patient, a hint of anger in his voice instead. “I don’t know if this phone call is motivated by boredom or loneliness, but frankly, a cruel joke like that is not an appropriate answer to either. Whatever you…”

“I’m not joking!” Tim cuts him off desperately, heading back towards the guest room. “It’s really him! I don’t know how, but it is!” He finds Jason where he left him, thankfully, lying on his back on the bed, but he’s still incoherent. “He was asking for Bruce a moment ago,” Tim finishes lamely.

Jason groans in pain again, rolling onto his side and curling around himself, and Alfred must be able to hear it on his end, because his tone has softened a little when he speaks. “Obviously there is someone there who is not well,” Alfred says. “I don’t know what made you think it could be...someone it clearly can’t be.” There’s a hitch in his voice, and it doesn’t escape Tim’s notice that Alfred can’t say Jason’s name. “But I suggest you call emergency services instead.”

“Obviously I thought of that,” Tim replies, growing annoyed, just a little. On the bed, Jason is still clearly in distress, but doesn’t seem to be dying. Well, dying again, he supposes. “But I wasn’t sure if Mr. Wayne would want people knowing…” Tim trails off, not sure if he should voice the big secret, even to Alfred, over the phone.

Alfred sighs. “I still don’t know what kind of ideas you have about Mr. Wayne or…”

Jason’s eyes have fluttered open again, and he’s looking at the phone in Tim’s hand intently. “Alfred?” he cries out, suddenly sitting up. He lunges, grabbing for the phone, and Tim instinctively scurries back. Jason falls to the floor, and Tim drops the phone, swearing. Jason gets to it before he can recover.

“Alfred?” Jason asks again, voice shaking as he grips the phone, bloodied knuckles tight. “Where’s Bruce?”

There’s a pause before Tim can hear Alfred say something in reply, though he can’t make out the exact words. Jason, still on the floor, sits up, leaning back against the bed. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Alfred, what happened?” he asks, free hand grasping at his own damp hair. Tim thinks he sounds like he might be about to cry, and looks away, embarrassed. 

Jason listens to Alfred speak for what seems to Tim a very long time. There are a few unmistakable sniffles from the older boy, which Tim does his best to ignore, before he quietly says, “Okay.” He repeats the word several times, like a broken record, before Tim feels a cold hand on his wrist and starts in surprise. Jason has gotten to his feet and is holding the phone out to him.

Tim takes the phone, reminding himself that Jason probably just has cold hands from being out in the rain, not for any supernatural reason. But that’s a meager reassurance when he’s dealing with the undead. “Now do you believe me?” he asks Alfred, trying to conceal how unsettled he is by all of this. “It’s him! You’ve got to tell Mr. Wayne!”

“I am...more inclined to believe you, yes,” Alfred replies. “But this is an...extremely delicate and unusual situation. I will not be telling Mr. Wayne anything until…”

“Tell me what?” a deeper voice says in the background. There’s a hasty click as Alfred hangs up the phone, presumably to lie to Bruce Wayne about the phone call - say it was telemarketers, or a prank call like he’d initially assumed. Tim hopes Bruce is sharp enough to see through it and press for the truth. Probably he would. Batman, after all.

Tim lets the hand holding the phone to his ear fall to his side, and gives Jason his full attention once again. He’s just standing there now, staring at his feet. Hearing Alfred seems to have calmed him, perhaps too much. If he’s really hurt, he shouldn’t be so calm.

Tim thinks about calling 911 again, but Jason’s still standing on his own two feet in spite of how battered he looks, so he figures he can hold off a little, just in case Batman descends upon his house in the next half hour or so to reclaim his wayward ward. He’s both hoping and dreading that that might just happen.

“I can...get you something clean to wear?” Tim offers hesitantly. Jason doesn’t respond. “Or are you...hungry?” The older boy can’t have eaten in...well, it’s been a while since he died. He should be hungry, right?

But Jason just reaches out slowly and takes the phone from Tim’s hand, looking at it sadly, like he doesn’t know how to work it and is wondering why it’s silent now. Tim decides to make clean clothes his priority and heads upstairs to grab some of his dad’s sweats - Jason is too tall for any of his own clothes - and some first aid supplies from the bathroom while he’s at it.

He hears a faint thud as he comes back down the stairs and finds Jason sitting on the floor again, head in his hands, the phone lying broken a few feet away and a scuff mark on the opposite wall. He looks up as Tim enters the room, but is clearly disappointed.

“Where’s Bruce?” he says yet again.

“I dunno,” Tim answers honestly. “On his way, I hope.” He offers Jason the clothes. “Do you want to change?”

Jason looks down at himself, then holds out his dirty, mangled hands and studies them in confusion. “What happened?” He really does seem to have a limited vocabulary right now.

“I have no idea,” Tim tells him, which is also the truth. He has no clue how this is possible, that Jason is here. If he had more information about the circumstances of his death, or supposed death, maybe he could figure out a theory, but as things stand he’s totally lost. “I guess that makes two of us,” he concludes aloud, talking as much to himself as to Jason.

Jason gives him a strange look. “Who are you?” At least it’s a new question.

“I’m nobody,” Tim says with a shrug, tossing the clothes on the bed. He doesn’t think Jason’s really in a state to absorb new information right now. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll leave those here for you to get dressed, and I’ll come back in a few minutes to see if...if we can do anything about your hands, okay?”

Jason keeps giving him that weird look and doesn’t say anything, so Tim steps out of the room, leaving the door open a crack just in case. He heads back to the kitchen, picks up the non-broken phone in there, and is about to dial 911, Batman and his secrets be damned, when there’s another clap of thunder followed by a pounding at the front door.

Tim is almost afraid to answer - Batman wouldn’t bother to knock, surely, and what if it’s yet another member of the undead come to haunt him? But he screws up his courage and opens the door anyway.

It’s not Batman, but Bruce Wayne who has come to claim his child.

“You figured out Alfred was lying,” Tim comments as he gestures for Mr. Wayne to come in. He’s wearing a raincoat but it’s unbuttoned, and he has no hat or umbrella, like he came here in haste. The headlights are still glowing on the fancy car in the driveway.

“Alfred doesn’t lie to me,” Mr. Wayne says sternly. “He told me exactly what you said. Where is he?”

Tim points silently towards where the guest room door is still ajar, and Mr. Wayne moves with swiftness that surprises Tim, even knowing he’s Batman. There’s a sort of strangled cry from Jason when Mr. Wayne disappears into the room. Tim hangs back, unsure of his place in all this. It feels like it would be intruding to join them. He retreats to the kitchen again, to return the phone to its cradle. He doesn’t think he’ll be making any more calls tonight.

It’s nearly an hour later when Mr. Wayne comes to find him in the living room. Tim looks up from his copy of Catcher in the Rye, which he’s reading for school but also likes, no matter how much his classmates complain about it. Mr. Wayne has taken off his raincoat at some point, but the front of his shirt is still damp, whether from the rain or because Jason has been crying on him, Tim can’t say. Mr. Wayne is very good at hiding it, but Tim suspects he might have been crying as well. He closes his book and sets it aside, knowing he made the right choice to leave them alone.

“How did he end up here?” Mr. Wayne asks curtly.

Tim shrugs at this latest question he can’t answer. “I don’t know,” he says again, knowing Mr. Wayne won’t be satisfied with that. He’s not satisfied with it himself, but it’s all he’s got at the moment. “I don’t think he really...knew where he was going.”

Sure enough, Tim can practically see the wheels turning as the corners of Mr. Wayne’s mouth pull downwards and his brow furrows. He knows how Jason wound up at the Drake house is only a secondary question to how he wound up among the living at all, but Tim isn’t ready to start speculating on that, and Mr. Wayne apparently decides it’s not worth pressing him.

“Thank you for calling me,” Mr. Wayne says at last, and though his tone is still far from warm, there is sincerity in his words. “I’ll take care of him. You don’t need to worry about anything else. When your parents get home…”

“I won’t tell them,” Tim interrupts impulsively. “I mean, if you don’t want me to. I’ll clean up the guest room and everything, and they’re not going to ask a lot of questions about what went on while they were gone, so it won’t be hard.” Mr. Wayne gives him an appraising look, and Tim gets to his feet, looking the man straight in the eye as he works up his courage one last time. “I know you’re...a very private man, Mr. Wayne,” he says pointedly. “I can keep your secrets.”

“Can you, now,” Mr. Wayne replies flatly. He looks like he wants to ask more questions. It may be Bruce Wayne who came for Jason, but it’s Batman who’s staring Tim down now. 

Tim flounders under the scrutiny. He’s not prepared for this, doesn’t know what to say. He’d never planned on letting anyone know what he knew, even Bruce Wayne himself, let alone imagined it would happen under such tense and unusual circumstances.

“Jason needs you,” Tim finally says, deflecting the man’s attention away from him. Sure enough, Mr. Wayne’s jaw tightens, and he looks back towards the guest room. “And I think you need him, too,” Tim adds softly. 

Mr. Wayne nods absently. “I’m going to take Jason home now,” he says. He has no trouble saying the boy’s name, evidently, though having seen him back from the dead might have something to do with that. He turns back to Tim, and gives him one last piercing look. “But I’ll want to talk to you another time.”

Tim nods, then helps Mr. Wayne get Jason to the car. The thunder has stopped, but it’s still raining heavily, and they all get soaked again - Jason never had bothered to change his clothes, but Mr. Wayne puts his own raincoat on him. They get Jason settled in the back seat, and he reluctantly lets go of Mr. Wayne’s hand, giving Tim that strange look again as the car door closes.

Mr. Wayne looks down at Tim. “Thank you,” he says again. Tim nods, then runs back to the shelter of the front porch as Mr. Wayne gets in the driver’s side of the car. He watches the tail lights pull down the driveway, turn left at the street, and disappear into the night on what he knows will be a roughly three mile drive back to Wayne Manor, where Alfred Pennyworth probably has everything Jason will need ready and waiting - better first aid than anything Tim could have provided, clothes that will fit him properly, a hot meal, warm bath, and clean bed.

With a sigh, Tim heads back inside his own empty house to strip the dirty sheets off the guest bed, wondering if Mr. Wayne is really going to bother ever speaking to him again.


End file.
